


Better to rule in hell

by MorteMistrata



Series: Happy Hotel [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Charlie can't seem to find a person that her parents approve of, and her time is running out. They decide to pick someone for her, but can true love really blossom under these conditions?
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: Happy Hotel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574053
Comments: 24
Kudos: 137





	Better to rule in hell

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've just been having a not great time, so I've been writing a helluva lot. I'm not actually sure how I feel about this story. It feels like something's missing, but I wrote so much, it felt wrong to not post and attempt to finish it. I'm thinking of an in heat story next? Honestly, I'll take requests if you have em. Happy holidays, and thanks for reading and reviewing.

“What were you damned for?” Charlie’s mother asks as Vaggie stands abruptly, her chair screeching as it flies a good three feet back, and says, “Excuse me. Bathroom.”

Her mother signals for more wine, and sighs, “Of course.”

Charlie can read the look on her father’s face as clear as day. He watches Vaggie slip through the tall double doors into the hall amusedly, as if he finds her discomfort funny. 

“I don’t approve of her,” He says, offhandedly, as if discussing something as trivial as the weather. “She wouldn’t do in court at all, now would she dear?” He turns to her mother, who’s currently examining the label of a bottle of red. 

She shakes her head, and tsks as she offers her glass to the server. He pours until the glass is exactly three quarters full, and then steps back blending neatly with the shadows lining the near empty dining room. Without a trained eye, it would be impossible to notice him standing there.

“Of course not. She’s been here for less than a decade, and hasn’t done a thing in that time to prove that she’s someone to be reckoned with. The poor thing has no nuance, though neither does Charlotte.”

It’s been clear all night that Vaggie isn’t welcome, but it still hurts to hear her parents diss her so harshly. 

Charlie pushes a slice of meat around her plate with her fork, and slinks lower into her chair. Her red and white dress is a more childish version of her mother’s black and red evening dress. With it’s ruffles, and hand embroidered flowers on the breast, it doesn’t look much like the kind of thing the daughter of the first succubus would be wearing. But that’s exactly why she likes it so much, and why her father eyed it with such distaste when she and Vaggie first entered the room.

“We’ve let you try it your way, Charlotte, but I think it’s time to give it a rest.” He continues, his hat casting a shadow over his eyes, and the deep red of his cheeks. He picks up his wine glass, an antique stolen from Earth on one of his excursions, and takes a long, petulant sip. “Your choices have all been inadequate. No one will mind extramarital affairs, of course, so you may keep your relationship with this ‘Vaggie’, if you so wish, but you still need to marry someone suitable for our bloodline and standing.”

It’s not like this conversation is unexpected, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bare. She’s tried so hard to find good people, but no matter who it is, they always find something to criticize. Despite their differing outlooks on life, Charlie wants nothing more than to make them proud, but it’s so hard to when all they ever do is make her feel like a failure. 

She sinks a little further into her chair. 

“Your mother and I have thought long and hard about it, and time for you to settle down. We’ve found a suitable suitor for you. You’ll meet him tomorrow for dinner.” His eyes flicker from her dress, to her annoyed glowering gaze. “Your mother has graciously prepared an outfit for the occasion.”

Vaggie slips back into the room, and takes her seat. Charlie can feel the anger coming off of her in waves like heat from an oven, but thankfully, she doesn’t say a word. 

Charlie’s mother snaps, and a servant pulls away from the shadows to clear away the dishes, despite Vaggie’s plate still being half full. 

“Why don’t we finish this charade,” Lilith says, as another servant places a plate of chocolate covered strawberries in front of her. “Charlotte can see you out.”

Vaggie releases a breath through clenched teeth, and Charlie holds her hand under the table to calm her. “Thank you for dinner.” Vaggie says stiffly. 

Vaggie pushes her chair back and stands up, bowing slightly at the waist before heading towards the door. Charlie shoots her dad an annoyed look before following after her, but he hardly reacts beyond barely hidden snicker. 

Once they’re in the hall, and out of her parent’s immediate range of senses, Charlie slips her fingers between Vaggie’s and slows their pace to a leisurely walk.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they were going to act like that. Last time I had someone over they were nice.” At the look that Vaggie gives her, she amends. “Nice-ish.”

“It’s not your fault, Hon,” Vaggie tucks a strang of loose hair behind Charlie’s ear and offers her a hesitant smile. “We both knew that I probably wouldn’t be the type of person they’d approve of. Just thought that they’d like me better than your asshole ex.” She mutters under her breath. 

“I did too. I mean, what’s not to like?” Charlie winks. 

Vaggie’s grin grows, just a little, and a flush brightens her cheeks. 

“It’s okay. Things will be okay,” Charlie repeats, more for herself than for Vaggie. “They only mean the best for me, even if we don’t agree on what the best is. I’ll- I’ll call you, okay?”

They stop in the foyer. The family portraits which line the walls stare them down with disapproval. The dark burgundy carpet, and the walls which are painted a color just a shade lighter than freshly spilled blood remind her all too much of her own untouched wine glass, and the uncomfortableness of dinner.

“You’d better.” Vaggie warns as they come to a stop in the foyer. She leans forward to wrap her arms around her neck in embrace. She presses a kiss to Charlie’s cheek, and as she pulls away, pauses to kiss her again on the mouth. Charlie can taste the sweetness of wine, which she’d drunk three glasses of, on her breath, and the faint savory taste of the rare steak she’d picked at during dinner.

As she pulls away, Charlie takes a moment to look her over, appreciating the rare opportunity to see her dress up. She looks nice in her pink halter dress, with all that skin showing. It’s not that Vaggie doesn’t dress well, but it’s rare to see her in something like this. The outfit is simple, with a single bow at the neckline, and a modest pair of low heels, but it let’s Charlie see down Vaggie’s shirt, and gives a good view of her legs. If only she didn’t have to deal with this suitor tomorrow, she might have gone home with her, if just for the night. 

“I like the way you’re looking at me,” Vaggie chuckles, taking a step backwards towards the door. “But I really think I should go.”

“Okay. Fine.” Charlie pouts. She kisses her one last time, the taste of blood and wine still heavy on her tongue, and then opens the front door for her. “Bye.”

“Goodbye, hon.” Vaggie waves, and closes the door behind her. 

Charlie turns on her heel, and trudges back to the dining room. A large slice of pink frosted cake has been left in front of her seat, as if to soften the blow of her father’s previous announcement. Despite how upset she is at her parents' verdict on Vaggie, the cake is one of the few things she’s honestly missed since she moved out, and so begrudgingly, she takes her seat once more.

"Thirty more years?" She spears the tip of the cake, and glares at it, like its sugar content is the cause for her current predicament. 

Her father shakes his head. "Three hundred should have been more than enough, Charlotte."

"But daddy, I-"

"Charlotte," Her mother’s voice is stern enough to make Charlie look up from her cake. “One of the lower lords was killed last week. Do you understand what that means?”

Hell is almost halfway between exterminations at the moment, which means that the time for duking it out, and staking new territories is long gone.

“Someone’s killing royals.”

“Yes, for sport or power. Either way, that makes you a target, and we can’t have that, now can we?”

“I can handle myself. I don’t need someone else for that. And I’ve got Razzle and Dazzle, too.”

“Well, of course you do, dear, but if something were to happen to us, and you needed to take over the throne, you would need allies. Currently you are little more than a laughing stock.” Her mother doesn’t say it unkindly, and it’s not like she hasn’t thought of it but it stings nonetheless to hear it aloud. “If you are to hold power, or acquire happiness for yourself, you won’t be able to do it alone.”

Her mother isn’t wrong. Still, Charlie doesn’t like the idea of having someone chosen for her, even if most high class marriages are treated as business deals rather than actual relationships, she had always thought it would be different for her. She wishes her mother would help her out, and let her bargain for a few more years, but the truth is, this is the fourth time she’s asked for a chance to pick out her own spouse, and the third time that the choice has failed to come to muster. It is unbecoming, or so her dad says. Her mother loves her, and supports her, but she agrees with her dad on this. It’s not a fight that she’ll win. 

With a sigh, she sinks further into her seat, and runs her fork over the top of the cake, piling icing onto her fork. It’s a sweet, fluffy buttercream, but she only feels bitter as it dissolves over her tongue. 

“Who is it?” 

Her dad’s eyes flit to her mother. A smile graces her mouth for just a moment before she picks up her wine glass, and looks away.

“I think it’s better for you to meet him in person.” Her father drawls. 

Charlie stabs at her cake again, the fork clinking against the plate. It’s so… condescending! They’re setting her up with some random guy, and she doesn’t even get to know who it is? Ugh!

“Fine.” She huffs. “Fine. Whatever.” 

“Wonderful,” Her mother mutters wryly into her cup of red. “Now why don’t we discuss your most recent project, hmm? The Orphanages, was it?”

“I told you about it, Mom.”  _ You know about it, I called you a thousand times, and left a thousand voicemails, and you never called me back. _

The rest of the long table is empty, but the disappointment in the air feels heavy, like there’s a roomful of eyes watching her with pity and mocking amusement. Charlie’s been here, in this position a million times before and it never gets any better. 

“Then I suppose you know that they’re now being run as meat shops? A splendid enterprise for your first foray into the business world. Some of my associates have complimented the quality of the product- very nice.”

After the exterminations each year, hell born citizens, mostly imps, who are relatively low powered, but retain the ability to have kids, leave behind children with no one to look after them. Charlie’s idea had been to set up an orphanage, something like the kind of thing that humans have up on earth for their own abandoned children. It had turned out that there were a lot more orphans than there were people willing to care, and the people who she’d originally put in charge- who had sworn that their standards were high enough to never kill a child- had sold out to high bidders looking for demons no one would miss. Either for cannibalism, or hunting, or things even worse than that. 

Despite her best attempts at dissolving them, there were big sponsors now interested. Enough so that messing with the system they’d started to rely on and invest in would be a dangerous bear to poke at. And so, yet another attempt at bettering hell resulted in failure, proving her parents right once more that hell was what it was: a thing to be dominated, and used, not a place to be cared for or protected. 

“I know.” She admits sullenly. 

“Hmph,” Her mother dips a strawberry into her wine, and bites it gingerly. She gestures with the glass as she continues. “Then you’ve given up this reformation nonsense?”

“No, I haven’t. You don’t think that people being killed every year is horrible? That we should have a better way to deal with things?”

Her father’s smile turns into a baring of teeth. 

“You believe that sending them to heaven is the better option? Do you really think that you could ever possibly understand the plight of the sinner?” Charlie’s dad never raises his voice, but a slight double timbre makes his voice echo. His words are more growled than uttered. “The punishment of the righteous? This is the way that things must be!”

He has never liked her ideas of charity, but he’s never acted like this. 

Her father takes a deep breath, and just like that, his expression once more resolves intosam slick grin that convinced so many sinners to make a deal with him.

“Now, if you have nothing else to add to the subject, you may be excused.”

Charlie downs the rest of her wine in one gulp, and sets her glass back on the table with a clang. Despite how mad she feels, she still utters, “Good night,” as she leaves the room.

Charlie heels click against the floor as she walks the same path she had taken earlier with Vaggie, except now she feels much more alone. The walk to her room is a familiar one, though she hasn’t taken it in a long time. In the hall between the royal’s personal quarters, weapons line the walls, reminding her of just how omnipresent her family is in the demon world at large. They’ve yet to be trifled with in recent years, but eventually people will forget the stories, and the Magne family will be a target once more. If her parents were just being infuriating, then it would be easier, but the truth is, they’re right. It’s always harder to fight back when you know that ultimately, you’re in the wrong.

Her parent’s chambers are set in a hallway perpendicular to her own, and as she passes it, she looks toward it wistfully. Once, things were better. Once, she hadn’t known about the world outside these walls, or how horrible that one night of screams really was. Despite how much easier things were then, she can’t imagine going back to not knowing. 

Charlie unlocks the door to her room, and steps inside. The lights flicker on, revealing a thick layer of dust covering every surface. She kicks off her heels, and pulls the chair back from her desk. She sits, dust collecting on her hands as she takes a seat and opens the desk drawer. No one has been here since she was her last. Charlie sneezes, and waves her hand at the dust that billows from the desk. She is glad that no one has gone through it. Some of the things that she had dreamed of are nothing more than jokes now in the light of her years of failure. 

She withdraws a worn notebook from the top of the clutter, with rainbows and unicorns drawn on it’s cover, and flips it open to the last page. Before she’d left, before she’d set out with all of her other charitable ideas, she’d planned a really big one. 

The Happy Hotel.

It had seemed too ambitious before. She’d tried a small rehab center, a soup kitchen, a free store; all of them had failed within a month or two, either due to the unsustainability of the business model, or those whom she’d intended to serve acting against her. Now, it seems, well, still crazy, but doable. 

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, and fingers the margins, and pen marks indenting the paper. The extermination this year was especially bad. Reports state that there might have been an extra thirty troops, and the casualties prove exactly how devastating they were against the general populace. Charlie was fine, of course. Her parents, the other lords and petty dictators all lived through it, but a lot of others didn’t. A lot of Imp casualties line the streets, as well as many lower demons. 

Charlie wants to change things. She always has, ever since she realized was Hell was like outside of these walls, but it’s so hard when everyone has already given up. She groans and pushes away from the desk. Her chair rolls, dust rising up beneath its wheels until it slams into the corner of her bed. The bright pink canopy billows out, and falls in front of her face. Charlie blows, and swats it away. 

God, she hates being back here. It makes her all gross and introspective, and makes her remember how naive she used to be, and still is. 

She kicks her feet, and pushes her chair into a spin. The hotel, the hotel. Why is this idea sticking with her now? She’d given up on it years ago, but…maybe it’s actually worth something. 

Charlie kicks her way back over the desk, and draws her hair up into a messy bun. She pulls a cupcake pencil from her drawer, and flips over to a new page. There’s an empty building downtown in the Westside XXX district that would perfect for a hotel… With a little bit of thinking, maybe she could get this idea to work. The only problem will be getting her dad on board with it, but that can be Tomorrow-Charlie’s problem. 

The next morning, she ignores the new garment bag hanging in her closet, and pulls on a white button down, with black slacks, and a tie and suspenders in the same color. No red today. 

She walks downstairs, and into her father’s study without knocking. He doesn’t even look up until she takes the empty seat in front of him.

“More objections?”

“I’ll do it.”

He looks up, surprised. He sets down the book that he’s looking through, a latin tome titled Exquisite and Delightful Physical Methods of Extortion. 

Leaning forward, he holds his head in his hand. “Really? Why the change of heart?”

“I have conditions.” She places the notebook from last night on the table, and flips it open to the last few used pages. 

“And what might those be, Charlotte?”

“I want to meet him on my own terms. By myself, wearing what I want, at a place I choose.” She pauses to gauge his reaction, but all he does is blink serpentine like, and gestures for her to continue. “And I want to work on this.”

She slides over the notebook. There’s a lot less color and drawings on the last few pages as opposed to the first, and as he flips through them, slower and slower as he actually reads, his grin starts to shift into a thoughtful expression. 

“‘The Happy Hotel’. It stinks of your optimism.” He closes the notebook, and slides it back over. “But it’s a smaller project. More individualized, and you’ve put thought into it. These are your only conditions?”

Charlie feels like it’s a trap. Should she have asked for more? Presented them differently?

Finally, he leans back in his chair, and opens a drawer. He pulls out a checkbook, and begins to write. “I’m glad to know that you’re not taking shit off of other demons, not even from me. Here,” He slides the check over to her. Charlie tries not to blanche at the gaudy amount of zeros. “Put it in a business account. Flaunt your name when you open the account. It won’t cash until after your date. I’m sure you’ve got plans to make regarding your ‘happy hotel’. I’ll have a car ready for you at five.”

Charlie can’t stop the smile from breaking out across her face. She squeals, and tucks she check into her front pocket as she walks around the desk, and hugs her dad.

“Thank you, daddy!”

Her father chuckles, and pats awkwardly at her arm. “Well, I suppose I should contact your suitor and inform him of the change of plans.”

“Right,” she pulls away, still giddy, and takes her seat once more. “So, um, tell him dinner is, um,” Charlie hadn’t thought beyond the concept of asking for the right to choose. “Up to him. Let him choose.”

“Wonderful.” He drawls, picking up the corded phone from the hook. “Now, off you go.”

“Thank you!” Charlie says, still smiling as she stands, and skips, half drunk on her giddiness as she glides out the door.

She reaches into her pocket for her hellphone, but in her rush to get downstairs, she must have forgotten it. She heads back towards the stairs, walking slowly as she surveys the many weapons and portraits lining the walls. One of her father’s favorites is one mimicked after Son of Man, with a red apple instead of a green one superimposed over his face. Charlie has never been one for art, but that one reminds her of who her father used to be. She thinks that Heaven is a better alternative to double death, but her father has actually been there. He’s seen it with his own eyes, and though he rarely ever talks about it, she knows how much he hated it. She pauses before it, her fingertips grazing the thick oil paint. 

Hell isn’t horrible, but then again, it’s all she’s ever known. How can she possibly understand what it feels like to choose to sin? To loose a chance at heaven?

She continues on, passing by the weapons of those who attempted to go against the Magne family over the long years of their reign. A spear, a six edged sword, a club carved with intricate designs of roses. In the foyer near the stairs is a replica angel spear. It’s sharp and deadly, and much scarier than anything that a hell dezian could ever hope to create on their own. 

Charlie picks up her pace, and walks upstairs, flopping on her unmade bed as she swipes her phone off of her bedside table. She presses the second number in her speedial, and waits for Vaggie to pick up.

“Hey! Are you coming home tonight? I was thinking of making spaghetti.”

“No, actually, I uh,” Charlie clears her throat, sighs, blowing air through her lips. “My dad is setting me up with someone. I have dinner with him tonight.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for long enough that it makes Charlie nervous. 

“Babe?”

“I- it’s just- You agreed to that?”

Charlie winces at the incredulous tone. “We made a deal, a long time ago. I’m the daughter of the king of hell; I’m supposed to settle down. Something might happen to them one day, and I’d have to take over. Can you imagine how horrible it would be here if someone without morals was in charge?”

Vaggie sighs. Charlie can hear the faint thud of something hitting against a hard surface. “I guess, I understand that. But they’re choosing for you? And you’re okay with that? What about us?”

“I love you Vaggie. My parents care about me enough to not interfere with us, but what choice do I have? I promised that I’d find someone they’d find suitable by now and… it’s not like I can back out of it now. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She laughs, as if to play off Vaggie’s doubts. “And besides, he’s letting me start the Happy Hotel! It all works out.”

“I dunno how I feel about this, but if you’re sure…”

“Of course I am! The Happy Hotel is a great idea, and I trust daddy to pick a good person. If it doesn’t go well, I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

“Hmph. Well, tell me how it goes, okay? If he does anything-”

“You’ll beat his ass.” Charlie finishes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Vaggie says softly. The phone beeps as the call disconnects. 

Charlie rolls onto her stomach, and flips open her notebook. She’s got a venue, a general idea of what she’ll do to redeem people, though the details beyond ‘make people better’ are pretty fuzzy. While her dad is providing a lot of the funding, the truth is, she can’t run a place that big on her own, and if she’s learned anything from the orphanages, it’s that she needs to keep a close eye on something like this so that no one else takes advantage of it. 

She has Vaggie, and well, that’s kind of it. Maybe her date will help too. Feeling vaguely optimistic, Charlie starts to draw a picture of the hotel itself. She’s got a lot to look forward to. 


End file.
